


you were too good to be true

by bishopsknifepatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: I love them both, M/M, Patrick is so fucking drunk, Pete is a fucking idiot?, The Last of the Real Ones, drunk!patrick is me all the time, i dont need to get drunk for that shit, quality content by yours truly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishopsknifepatrick/pseuds/bishopsknifepatrick
Summary: The piano opening up The Last of the Real Ones began, stopping Patrick from doing anymore, seeming pleased with himself. Pete walked out as soon as the verse started, seeing Patrick staring intensely at the screen.I was just an only child of the universe and then I found you…“Oooooh that’s me! That’s me!” Patrick said, looking up at him, smile wide. Pete couldn’t help but grin at how excited he was.





	you were too good to be true

The door swung open, Pete not able to catch it before it slammed into the wall behind it. Pawing around for the light switch, Pete was hauled away just as he turned them on. Patrick was already trying to get away and explore the house his impaired brain found, for whatever reason, fascinating. 

Patrick just giggled like a five year old the entire time, his arm swung around Pete’s shoulders just to keep from falling over. “C’mon Patrick,” Pete said.

“Who’s house is this?” Patrick said, slurring his words.

“This is your house, Patrick.” 

“WooooOOoow, my house is niceeeeee!”

“Just sit, please.”

“I'm,” Patrick paused, looking around, “drunk.” This was followed by a loud laugh. 

“Yeah, you're deadass drunk, ‘Trick,” Pete said, groaning from practically having to drag Patrick along with him. They stumbled, Pete laying Patrick down on the couch (more or less dropping him face-first into the cushions). Pete went to his feet, removing his shoes for him, throwing them at the door, before doing the same with his.

He then sat down on the other end, sighing as he did so. He pulled out his phone, immediately going to a random puzzle game he had completed 63 levels of already. 

Patrick put his head up, attempting to readjust his glasses which kept falling from their original position. Every time he tried to push them back up, he was completely off target, nearly stabbing himself in the eyes multiple times. They continued to fall, and he put them back up every time, this whole experience lasting a good 47 seconds. Pete watched the whole thing, if he hadn’t been so distracted he could have taken a video to show the other two later, which they would inevitably laughed about, which would have turned Patrick’s face a bright fire engine red when he found out. 

Patrick stopped moving, him laying stomach-down on two-thirds of the couch, he turned his head sideways, staring at the other side of the living room. Pete bent forward, checking on him. Patrick’s eyes were wide, but he looked so lost in thought, probably trying to figure out what colour the pillow on the chair was or trying to comprehend the idea of a chair and its purpose. 

Patrick suddenly pushed himself up, scaring Pete, “Jesus fuck, you’re worse than a dog.” Patrick sat up, then crawled over to sit right beside Pete on the couch. It was already one in the morning and it was becoming evident by Pete’s yawning that they should probably get some sleep, but Patrick was still wide awake by the looks of. 

“Okay, I’m going to go to the bathroom, don’t...run outside?” Pete said, setting down his phone on the coffee table as he got up. Patrick watched him leave the room, immediately reaching for the phone. He sat it on the couch in front of him. He tapped it spontaneously, not looking for anything specific, but he did open the music app. He scrolled through Pete’s seemingly endless collection, accidently tapping one. 

The piano opening up The Last of the Real Ones began, stopping Patrick from doing anymore, seeming pleased with himself. Pete walked out as soon as the verse started, seeing Patrick staring intensely at the screen.

_I was just an only child of the universe and then I found you…_

“Oooooh that’s me! That’s me!” Patrick said, looking up at him, smile wide. Pete couldn’t help but grin at how excited he was. 

“Yes, that’s you.”

Pete walked over and collapsed on the couch again beside Patrick who sat cross-legged, humming along to the song. “Who wrote this?”

Pete rubbed his eyes, “I did.”

“Thank god you are here because I have a question,” Patrick said, as he poked Pete’s face for absolutely no reason.

“And what is that question?” He propped his elbow on the arm of the couch, using it to rest his head.

Patrick leaned into the back cushions of the couch, laying his head down, “Who’s it for?”

“What does that mean?” Pete said, face made of stone. 

“Like the ‘you’ you keep referring to?” Patrick said, dragging out his words. 

“Someone,” was all he muttered. 

“Someone who?” Patrick continued on.

“Someone special,” Pete avoided his staring gaze. 

Patrick quirked his head, resembling a dog once more, his drunken self not catching on.

“Okay! Okay, it’s about you, Patrick!” Pete burst, standing up. His rapid hand movements made Patrick lean away. Pete realized what he had just done, and started to panic. “Oh shit, what did I just do? How am I gonna explain this tomorrow?”

He looked at Patrick, who was still sitting there silently, listening to the song, appearing to be unphased by the yelling. But then something clicked in Pete’s head. 

“Wait a minute, you’re fucking drunk! You’re not gonna remember a thing in the morning!” Relief spread across his face, while Patrick’s turned to worry. “Are you okay, Patrick?”

“I’m fine, I think I might throw up on the couch though,” he said, rather calmly.

“Oh, yeah, you’re fucking drunk. Let’s get you to the bathroom,” less excited, more concerned this time. 

/// 

“Pete!” Patrick yelled from the bedroom.

“Yeah?” Pete said, continuing to stir the scrambled eggs on the stove top in front of him. 

“Why the hell is there a four page essay saying how sorry you are about telling me tlotro is about me and didn’t want me to find out this way?” He looked completely confused.

“I did it because I was worried you would somehow remember.”

“Pete, we’ve been married for four fucking years! I sure hope the song is about me.”

“Oh, right,” Pete said.


End file.
